


Bedeviled

by owlaholic68



Category: Monster of the Week (Tabletop RPG), Original Work
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Implied Sexual Content, Jacques talks in French, M/M, Sickfic, Swearing, but you can, highlight: he's also a piece of shit, highlights: Jacques wears a sexy nurse outfit and also he learns how to order things online, if you are one of my players you don't have to read this, unethical use of magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:09:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22972294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlaholic68/pseuds/owlaholic68
Summary: James falls ill. Except vampires shouldn’t to be able to get sick…
Relationships: James/Jacques, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 4





	Bedeviled

James was always a sickly child.

“Your son is so delicate and frail,” people would tell his mother. Looks of sympathy when the doctor made a house call for the fourth time that year. A sigh from the teacher when James’ mother had to come collect all his coursework that he had missed so he didn’t get too far behind the class.

Eventually he grew up and got slightly better. Still missed lots of school, still abstained from participating in any sports lest that worsen his symptoms. College was no better, so many irresponsible young adults confined in one campus.

Jacques always worried about him then in their early days, would often visit with medication and wonderful magics to ease the pain and discomfort. He also made sure that James _always_ got chances to retake tests, extensions on his papers, and waivers for large projects. No matter how stubborn the professor.

Vampirism made all that misery go away.

The first winter after he was turned, James marveled. An entire season without getting ill. No sniffling, no sneezing, no coughing, no wheezing in the late hours of the night. He could go on a midnight walk with his lover without worrying about catching cold. He could get up in the morning without the persistent chill and heaviness in his chest.

Years go by. Decades.

Over a century since James had last gotten sick.

* * *

“Darling, darling,” Jacques whispers to him. Kisses the spot on the nape of James’ neck that always makes him giggle, ghosts his breath just under James’ ear where it elicits a shiver. “My eternal dearest, my sweetheart, my sweet cinnamon, what you _do_ to me…”

“J-Jacques,” James gasps. He squeaks when his husband presses him against the kitchen counter, his back to Jacques’ chest. “Jacques, dear, I – I said I wanted to talk about something…”

Hands on his waist and slightly below. “Unless it’s talking about how ardently I want you and how desperate I am to turn you to putty under my lips, I’m afraid I don’t much want to hear it.”

Damn him, he has that infernal spark that so easily distracts James. He’s too weak for that.

“N-No, no, that’s not – not what I wanted to talk to you about.” James groans despite himself. Sometimes his demonic lover is, well, demonic. Supernaturally good at this. He’d meant to confront Jacques about the fact that he’s starting to get unbearably controlling, continuing to not let James leave the house alone. Their compromise gave him some space but not enough. “No, dear, this was – this was something serious I needed to t-talk to you about.”

“Serious?” Jacques purrs. “Oh sweetheart, then don’t worry about it. Rid your mind of it, let me take care of everything. Serious things will give you wrinkles,” he teases, running a finger between James’ tense brows.

“J-Jacques-”

“Shh, shh…” Jacques presses his face into the back of James’ neck and mumbles something.

James turns as much as he can. “W-What?”

Jacques raises his head with a devilish smile. “I said, we can talk about it later. If you’re concerned about it, I want nothing more than for you to _not_ be concerned about it. We’ll talk. But for now…” he traces the curve of James’ lips, the pad of his thumb parting James’ soft lips. “I think your pretty mouth could be put to better use.”

All thought of serious talk flees from James’ mind. Very little talking gets done that day.

* * *

James wakes slowly.

Wait – he was asleep? Odd. Vampires don’t sleep, at least not often. James has a sleeping aid that he’ll occasionally take if he wants to just black out and relax for a little bit. But he hadn’t taken that last night.

He sits up and rubs his chest. Feels heavy and tight.

“J-Jacques-” he calls out. But whatever he was going to say gets eclipsed by a hacking cough.

“Shh, I’m here…” Jacques is right next to him. “Are you okay?”

James blinks at him. His vision is clouded and bleary. He rubs his head to try to dispel the dizziness that muddles his thoughts. Tries to say something but starts coughing again.

“Oh fuck, you’re – oh holy shit, darling, just try to breathe.” Jacques cradles him, rubbing his back with frantic hands.

He tries. He really does try. But his lungs ache. His throat burns. He manages a few wheezing breaths.

“Shh, shh,” Jacques continues to soothe. “That’s better, that’s better…” He puts the back of his hand on James’ forehead. He gasps.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” his husband rushes to reassure. “You’re just – you’re just a little warm, is all. Let me go get you some water. Stay here. Just rest.” He scurries off.

James doesn’t hardly remember the last time he felt like this. But it is familiar. He is sick. Based on Jacques’ shocked gasp, he is incredibly ill.

He lays back on the pillows and turns onto his side when he starts coughing again. Pulls the covers up to his chin, suddenly freezing. Kicks all the blankets off a minute later, burning hot.

Jacques returns with a glass of water and a thermometer. “Sorry, it took me forever to find the thermometer.” He frowns at it. “Still might be a mercury one. Oh well, it’ll do for this.”

When he takes it out of James’ mouth a few minutes later, he pales. Bites his lip. “You’ve got a fever.”

“I know.” James blinks again. His vision is still fuzzy. The urge to pass out is very tempting right now. “How – how bad? Don’t lie to me.”

“What’s the normal human temperature again?”

“Thirty-seven degrees. But I’ve always ran a little low. Even lower now after being turned.”

“Oh. Oh.” Jacques quickly stows the thermometer. He avoids eye contact. Takes James’ clammy hand and runs his thumb over the back of it. “It – it’s pretty bad.” There’s an underlying layer of guilt in his unusually quiet voice.

For some reason, this makes James feel guilty himself. He musters a smile. “Dear, you know how I am. Remember when I used to get sick all the time? This hardly holds a candle to that. I can manage. Especially with you to take care of me. You’ll take excellent care of me, won’t you?”

This brings back Jacques’ normal determination. “Of course,” he vows. “I couldn’t protect you from this, but I can help now. I will make you better. You’ll get well in no time, I promise.”

“Thank you.” James starts coughing again.

He forgot how much he hated being sick. Ugh.

* * *

Jacques is the perfect caretaker.

He is never far from James’ side. Constantly attentive and caring, gentle and thoughtful. Stocks their bedroom with tea, books, diversions to distract James from wallowing in his body’s misery.

Before all this, James looked forward to every minute that Jacques left his presence, desperate for some alone time. Now, he dreads that. Welcomes Jacques with open arms because his husband means comfort, means good things and gifts and easing the pain. He also keeps coming up with new and silly ideas to entertain James while he’s bedridden.

“Is this strictly necessary?” James asks.

“What do you mean?” Jacques drizzles more honey over his fingers. “Honey is good for your throat.”

“Yes, but mmph-” James manages to pout even with fingers in his mouth. “You literally have a spoon in your other hand. You could just give me honey on the spoon mmph-”

Jacques smiles and lets James lick his fingers clean. “Sure, but what would be the fun in that?”

“It would be faster,” James argues. “And more hygienic.”

“Faster? Why? Do you have anything better to do right now?” Jacques chuckles and leans in close, brushing James’ ear with his cheek. “Besides, it reminds me of you licking _other_ things off my fingers…”

James’ already hot face lights up in a deeper blush. “J-Jacques! You’re – my goodness, I’m ill right now!” He playfully pushes Jacques away with a hand on his lover’s laughing chest. “You’re filthy! Are you _sure_ you’re not in the Lust department?”

“I _can_ be for you, sweetheart…” Jacques steals a sweet kiss, then another. “I can be _anything_ for you, I can do _anything_ for you, just say the word and I’ll be on my knees for you and I’ll make you forget about everything else – you won’t even _remember_ that you’re ill…”

James melts into him with a delighted wheezing sigh. A welcome distraction.

* * *

Jacques is once again whispering sweet nothings into James’ ear. Like a lover in a rose-colored romantic movie. Except for the parts where he dives into parts that would certainly not be allowed to be included even in an R-rated movie.

“Dear, I – I really can’t concentrate like this,” James half-heartedly admonishes.

“Why ever not?” Jacques puts a hand up James’ pajama shirt. “Isn’t your book so terribly interesting? Isn’t that what you said to me as a reason why you couldn’t part from it to be with me?”

“I – you – Jacques-” James feels like he just got caught in a devious trap. But it’s Jacques’ fault that – that – oh whatever, James was just being contrary earlier because he could be. Make his husband work for it. “Fine.” He sets aside his book and gives his full attention.

He pleasantly forgets about his nasty cough that has turned from wet into dry and hyena-like. Jacques takes his breath away.

In the midst of this literally breathtaking session, the doorbell rings.

“Who in the world could be calling on us?” James wonders aloud.

Jacques stands. “Oh, I ordered some things. They’re scheduled to be delivered today. Wait here, I’ll go fetch them.”

He is gone for more than five minutes. James starts to worry. He doesn’t know the last time he was left alone for so long.

“J-Jacques?” He hoarsely calls out.

“One more minute!” His husband replies. “I just have to unpack some things.”

Weird. Okay. James patiently waits.

“Close your eyes!” Jacques yells.

“Okay!” James shuts his eyes. This is a present, then.

The door creaks open. A heavy weight – Jacques – settles in his lap and kisses his forehead.

“C-Can I open my eyes yet?”

“Nope. Open your mouth.”

An odd-tasting candy is placed between James’ lips. He bites it and chews. Herbal and slightly spicy. But it tastes good and soothes his throat. “Ginger?”

“Ginger and honey chews. According to the package.”

“Mm. Can I open my-”

“No. You’re dreadfully impatient today, darling. There’s more.” Some rustling. He lays something warm and slightly aromatic across the back of James’ neck. Soft. Some kind of heated thing. His mind’s a bit cloudy still, but he registers it as a scented hot pack.

James smiles and leans into the heat. He blindly reaches one hand out for Jacques. He touches bare chest. Frowns in confusion.

“Dear, are you – are you not wearing a shirt?”

“I am _technically_ wearing a shirt. Maybe. How long does something have to be to call it a shirt?”

Oh my _goodness._ James moves his hand up to finally find some clothing. “This is a crop top. What are you – why are you wearing a crop top?”

“You’ll see.”

“Dear-” 

“It’s a gift. Now hush and let me treat you.”

James would roll his eyes if his eyes were open. Instead he puts his hands on where he guesses Jacques’ hips would be and makes a wonderful discovery that whatever Jacques is wearing on his bottom half, it definitely is not pants and it does not cover his butt.

Jacques uncaps a bottle and sniffs it. “Okay, this says it’s a bath thing. So I guess you’re taking a bath later. Ooh, and matching massage oil. You are _definitely_ taking a bath later.” He sifts through some more packaging. “That seems to be all for this box.”

“This box? There’s more?”

“Of course there’s more. It’s _me,_ sweetheart. Do you think I’d go easy when it came to pampering you?”

James giggles. “Oh dear, I suppose not. What’s in the next one, then?”

The next one is a variety of teas. Jacques makes him keep his eyes closed but lets him smell each package. The box after that is filled with soft fluffy socks. One package has what smells like essential oils and a diffuser. The next box is heavy. James smells…paper?

“Paper?” He guesses. “Stationery? Wait no – no, it’s heavy. Books?”

“A book subscription box,” Jacques confirms. “Like we need any more books! But seriously, it will come every three months. I thought you’d appreciate it so you don’t have to go out to the library quite so often.”

James’ head is clearer now. That makes him suddenly think of something. He frowns. He really _won’t_ have to go the library as much. And if Jacques has gotten the knack of ordering things online and having them delivered, then he won’t have to go much of _anywhere_ anymore…

“Here’s the last one.” Jacques takes his hand and puts it into an empty box.

“This is empty.” James loses his earlier train of thought.

“Exactly. I already put it on. Open your eyes.”

James bursts into laughter. “You bought – oh I can’t believe – really, Jacques, a sexy nurse outfit?”

“Am I _not_ your personal nurse? Do I not attend to your _every_ need?” Jacques lowers his voice into a growl and strokes James’ flushed cheek. “Now, I think my patient needs a bath and an intimate massage. Doctor’s orders.”

* * *

“Whoa, whoa, where do you think you’re going?”

James blinks at Jacques. “The kitchen.”

“What do you need from the kitchen? Let me go get it for you. Lay down, lay back down, you shouldn’t be up-”

“I’m not made of glass!” James snaps.

Jacques steadies him with firm hands on his shoulders, guiding him to sit on the bed. “Shh…” he feels James’ forehead. “Your fever has gotten worse. Fuck, fuck-”

“I’m fine,” he argues. But he knows he feels clammy and hot, shaky and dizzy. Jacques had abandoned him for a few minutes and James had taken the opportunity to load up on layers. Now he is painfully thirsty. “I want some water.”

“Water, water, of course – I’ll go get you some water. Stay right here.”

“No!” James stands. Sways dangerously. He’s being irrational but he doesn’t care. “No dear, I’ve got it! I can go get it, I’ll just go get it, oof-”

He confusedly blinks up at Jacques, who has him in a loose bridal carry.

“Fine, if you’re going to be so stubborn…” Jacques mutters. Carries him into the kitchen and sets him on the counter. Fills a plastic cup with water and lets James drink it. Then he carries James to the couch and frowns upon setting him down.

“What?” James challenges. All the bed rest is starting to make him uncharacteristically grumpy. A bit of cabin fever on top of his normal fever.

Jacques tugs on the sleeve of James’ housecoat. “You shouldn’t be wearing this. It’s too heavy.”

“But I’m cold!”

“You’re wearing too many layers,” he argues. Starts to look a little angry. “That’s not going to help your fever. You need to only have one main layer on and then a loose blanket on over that. You know that, James. Now take it off.”

He clutches it even closer. In his feverish haze, his husband is being so _mean…_ “No! I’m cold and you can’t make me!”

“Darling, you are _testing_ my patience. I most certainly can make you and I will. If it means you being safer and getting better quicker. Don’t you want that? Don’t you want to stop being ill? Yes? Well then listen to me. Please, my sweetheart, please. Do it for me. I – I’ll let you wear my sweatshirt. Your favorite one, the one I never let you wear.”

A tempting bribe.

James relents. “Okay. Fine, dear.” He removes his housecoat and the other five layers he’d snuck on until he’s down to pajamas. Starts uncontrollably shivering and shaking. Jacques runs to the bedroom and comes back with a fresh pair of pajamas and his overlarge hoodie. Helps him change clothing and allows the one single extra layer.

“Lay back,” Jacques suggests. He climbs onto the couch behind James and drapes a thin blanket over them.

James hums and lets his spinning head rest against Jacques’ shoulder. The ceiling swims in his blurry vision.

“Oh dear, oh my darling, don’t cry, it’s going to be okay. Don’t cry, sugar-pie, don’t cry.”

There are fingers on James’ cheeks. He confusedly blinks. He – he’s just so cold and feels so sick and he hates this so much…

Jacques strokes his hair. “I’m here, James, it’s okay. Don’t cry, sweetpea, I’m here. What’s wrong?” He kisses James’ cheek, his neck, his forehead. “Are you cold? Are you too cold?”

“Y-Yeah, I’m really cold…” James sniffles and curls up.

“I’m sorry. You know I’m sorry. I wish I could help.”

His embrace is a welcome comfort. James dozes in the meager warmth he provides, then pushes him away when the fever dips and it’s too hot, then cuddles him close when it spikes again.

“Talk to me,” he mumbles. “I like to hear your voice.”

“Talk to you? Sure. What do you want me to talk about?” Jacques keeps one hand combing through James’ sweaty hair. His other hand holding James’, fingers intwined.

“Talk to me in French,” James requests. “Your voice is so soft and – and gentle in French…”

Jacques chuckles. “Okay. I’ll talk in French, _mon chou.”_

“Yeah…” James hums. He has no idea what Jacques just said, but it sounded lovely.

“Mon petit chou, mon amour, je t’aime.”

Even with his feverish haze, he remembers a bit of French. “Oh, I know that one!” He mumbles. “It means you love me. And I’m your love. But – but the first one? I don’t know that.”

 _“Mon chou?_ That means you’re my little cabbage.”

James blinks. Has his fever reached a new insane level?

“It’s a term of endearment,” Jacques adds. As if that clarified anything. “I don’t know how to explain it. I could call you _chouchou_ if I wanted to be really cute.”

“Chouchou,” James repeats, barely managing the pronunciation. Like the word “shoe”. “I’ll call you that.”

Jacques winces. “Please just in private. I’ll never hear the end of it if my sisters hear you call me that.”

“Agreed.” James sits back and lets Jacques talk nonsense to him in French. It could be nonsense, it could be Jacques reciting something really boring.

But it doesn’t matter because it’s soothing. James basks in it. It’s so nice to sit here with Jacques. Nothing to do. Nowhere to go.

“Tell me a secret,” he requests. Like they’re having a sleepover. “Tell me something secret in French. I won’t even know. You – you could tell me anything.”

“Tell you anything?” Jacques smiles against his forehead. “Okay. Hmm, a secret…”

“Any secret,” James slurs. The fever is starting to spike again and muddy his thoughts.

“Tu es malade à cause de moi.” Whatever that means, Jacques says it slowly. A little bit of guilt underlying his low voice. “Je t’aime si forcement que je ferais n’importe quoi pour te garder avec moi. N’importe quoi, chéri. Je te promis.” He sighs. Rumbles in his chest, rumbles against James’ ear. “Mais tout cette maladie finira bientôt. Un jour ou deux, peut-être. Pas plus. Je veux que tu sois heureux, mon amour.”

“Repeat that last part,” James requests. He just likes the way it sounds. He likes when Jacques calls him his lover.

“Je veux que tu sois heureux. Je le veux, mon amour, je le veux.”

“Mon amour…” James manages to repeat.

“I want you to be happy, dear,” Jacques translates. “That’s not a secret. But it’s still true. I want it more than I want the sun to rise tomorrow.” He sighs again and kisses James’ cheek. “Perhaps you should try sleeping a bit, sweetheart. Might do you good to get a full rest.”

James murmurs his assent. He takes a bit of his sleeping aid and peacefully passes out in Jacques’ arms. Where he fits. Where he always ought to be.

* * *

He wakes shivering.

But not because of fever. He’s sweaty and clammy and the house really isn’t that warm.

“Jacques?” He calls out. Suddenly anxious that Jacques’ not at his side.

“Yes, dear?” Jacques pokes his head in. “Sorry for leaving you, we just got groceries delivered and I needed to throw some things in the freezer. How are you feeling?”

James clears his throat. It doesn’t scrape like before and it barely burns. “I think my fever is down.”

“Good, great!” Jacques fetches the thermometer. It is indeed down. Still a few degrees above normal temperature, but the worst of it has broken. The cough and congestion have improved too, though now it’s simply become a runny situation. But even that isn’t too miserable.

Jacques treats him that night to a long languid bath and massage. Finds some aromatic candles, puts on the oil diffuser. Climbs into the bath with him and kisses him like he never wants James to ever breathe again.

Interlocks their fingers. Wedding rings together.

**Author's Note:**

> Me pushing Jacques off the deep end: lol you'll die soon so might as well...
> 
> Apparently writing fanfic is what I use my Bachelor's in French for these days.


End file.
